Five Faction Scramble
by isoner
Summary: General Hawk gives an independant Specialist operative an assignment with the regular GI Joe team to prove himself.


Five Faction Scramble

Authors notes: I do not own the rights to any of the characters or equipment contained in this story. I am just borrowing them. This story marks the first time (as far as I can remember) I kill off an established character… and one of my favorites too. Not sure where this story fits in overall continuity… closer to Marvel/DD comic continuity, obviously; and takes place after my "Shadows From the Past" story. One other note is that I had originally planned to have a simplier plot for this story than it is turning in to. Wasn't planning to have Red Shadows in it at all, but it looks like they have thwarted my plans for a simple story. Other than that, I bet you can guess the point of writing this story in two pages.

"Thank you for hosting this, Black Major," Red Jackal said. He was a man with a cybernetic head, who otherwise strongly resembled Destro to the point that anyone would instantly mistake one for the other. The chief difference being that Destro could remove his helmet, and Jackal's metal head was part of himself.

"Think nothing of it, Jackal, anything to help us get revenge upon our former Baron, the so called Cobra Commander." The Black Major had gotten surprisingly sickly, in the past several months. As a person who had been physically very active throughout his entire life, he was finding it impossible to cope with retirement, and the inactivity was killing him quickly. He didn't even get up from his chair after he had welcomed his guests. "I trust the Red Shadows continue to grow strong?"

The final guest, and the youngest of the men spoke up, "Yes, Black Major. Under my care, the Red Shadows continue to grow unnoticed. We have people everywhere."

Jackal snorted, "Don't be so arrogant, Mr. Vaughn. If you really had people everywhere you wouldn't need me to tell you that some of MY old agents have discovered that the Joes have found Dr. Mindbenders secret genetics laboratory. They are in the process of cataloging its inventory, but will soon be moving it to a secure location."

"How did you discover this?" Wilder Vaughn asked.

The Black Major's eyes sharpened at the sound of the news too.

"Isn't it enough that I have?"

"That equipment could advance our cause."

"Aren't you going to tell him the location, Jackal?" The Black Major asked.

"Certainly."

Later, the Black Major held the door as his two Red Shadow accomplices left, but the arm that closed the door behind them belonged to Zartan.

He walked back through the apartment, taking off the Black Major's shirt, revealing his own body armor underneath. He crossed the main room, opened the bedroom door; a body lay on the bed. The body was that of a once great man, the pride of the British SAS who had been driven to greatness and evil by his lust for adventure; but he had done his duty for Queen and Country up until the day the Baron Ironblood had recruited him into being the Black Major.

Zartan pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number he wasn't allowed to place on speed dial. "Yes, Cobra Commander, he is dead. He put up a good fight. All evidence will point to a heart attack… I do have some additional information for you, and it will only cost you another two million."

*****

Matt Trakker sat in the study of his mansion, his full attention directed at the oversized video panel and the face on it. Duane Kennedy, his liaison officer, was giving him an update, "As you know, the PNA accord that your team was operating under, expired back in 1991. A decision has finally been made concerning what to do with you. Expect a visitor to arrive shortly."

"I'll be in the conference room," Trakker said, and stood up as the connection was cut. As he pushed the chair back under the desk, a fake wall slid down to cover the communications console, and Trakker found himself looking into a mirror. He adjusted his tie in the mirror, before walking down the hallway and stepping into a hidden elevator. The elevator opened across from a private subway car.

"Conference room, local," he said as he entered the subway car. The car obediently took off down a series of transport and subway tubes. It was capable of taking its passengers to one of a dozen different destinations across the country. Matt Trakker had so far only visited a couple of them.

The subway car stopped, and Matt Trakker stepped out and walked down a series of corridors, passing at one point a short squat robot that had been shut down to wait for his son to return home from attending MIT.

His visitor met him at the doorway to the conference room, wearing the sigil of a general. Not having an official military rank although the flow charts listed him as a Specialist, Trakker hesitated slightly, wondering if he should salute, but instead held out his hand in greeting.

The General accepted the handshake with a friendly smile, "General Abernathy, call me Hawk."

"Specialist Matt Trakker, please call me Matt. Would you care to have a seat inside?" He opened the door and gestured to the table. Both men entered and took seats opposite each other.

"I'll come straight to the point, Specialist Trakker. It seems that I'm your boss, and I'm not quite sure what to do with you. I've read your files, and was content to let you operate on your own, but budget concerns require that I take a tighter reign over your operation."

"If you feel it is necessary," Trakker responded, "My operatives are paid per operation; when not needed, they are busy at their civilian jobs."

Hawk paused as he tried again to reconcile the successes Trakker had reported with a group of people who had limited, if any, military training. Even admitting that he was likely biased, it was still difficult for him to believe. He placed the condensed version of the file on the table and flipped it open. "Your team was an experiment that went fully operational in 1985, and had many successes. Byproducts of your experimental equipment have even been utilized in GI Joe equipment. But your team has shown very little activity after 94."

Trakker nodded, "That's right, Venom went underground in 94, but they have started to come out of hiding lately. Venom was the main focus for our team so we have seen very little action lately."

"That is not entirely true, is it?"

"Some of our technology was stolen, or sold by Venom; I authorized operations to get it back from team ATOM and the Roarke brothers."

"Some sort of 'Armor Wars'?"

"Not exactly."

"I need to test you. Nothing fancy, I just need to see how you perform on a mission."

"Not a problem. What is the mission?"

"Escort. I need a cargo moved with high security and no visible presence. I have all the details for the mission here."

"How many operatives?"

"Ill leave that up to you."

*****

"Destro, Zartan, Major Blood and Firefly, I have an assignment for you." Cobra Commander announced to his gathered subjects. "Thanks to the efforts of our very own Zartan, we now know the Joes plan to move Mindbender's genetic equipment. I need this equipment to create the second generation of NeoViper. You will watch the instillation, and at the best opportunity you will recover the equipment."

The men all bowed and exited without significant comment. Each of them scheming how to turn the assignment to their own ends. Destro didn't care if Cobra got the equipment, provided he first got the design schematics for his MARS techs to weaponize and sell to Cobra and other governments. Firefly considered taking it to sell to a competing organization for more money. Zartan wanted to steal it, and then sell it back to Cobra for triple what Cobra Commander wanted to pay him. Major Blood didn't have quite the same level of deceit, for him it held a pay bonus and higher pay rate next time his contract came up for renewal. All of the men knew that in the end they would give in to Cobra Commanders wishes, for the consequences of doing otherwise were unfathomable.

Cobra Commander waited after the men had left. He still had one toady left to deal with. "Mayham! Front and center!"

A fat graying man with the audacity to wear the uniform of an Air Force General stepped forward. He was an arrogant man with none of the talent he thought he possessed, but he did have enough skill, expertise, and even success to keep the man alive, and his special team active.

"You heard the details of their assignment, Mayham. If you can do it better, then do so."

"Certainly, I will, Cobra Commander! But… there was one little thing I wanted to ask about." He paused, Cobra Commander could see the man reaching into himself for what courage the man possessed to broach the next subject. "I need more competent men, Commander. The men I have at my disposal are all Dreadnok rejects."

The Commander decided to be patient, as he explained what didn't need to be explained. "Cobra operatives must all start out as Troopers, Mayham. From there they work up to Officers or specialize into other fields at the officer level. The truly gifted can then move on to become Cobra Vipers, and from there, the truly elite in both mind and body become Crimson Guardsmen. Only those truly ruthless can manage to graduate from the rank and file to claim a Leadership position. Don't believe it can be done? Just look at the Baroness, or that traitor Dr. Mindbender. But you have not proven yourself in that way. You came to me out of the blue with plans and technology like none had seen before… By all rights I should have killed you then and sold your designs to Destro! But I decided to keep your unique technologies in-house, as it were, and allow you to operate your splinter VENOM group. And your troops are NOT Dreadnok rejects! Dreadnoks are too undisciplined or skilled to even be Cobra Troopers. Your troops are former Dreadnoks… undisciplined punks, but they have all achieved academic specialties most of the other Dreadnoks would never dream of achieving. Do you really think I want a mere biker gang recruit anywhere near the advanced combat weaponry you possess? They wouldn't know how to drive anything that had a cockpit or a door. GO! Mayham… secure this new prize, so I don't have to actually pay any of those mercenaries one red cent!"

*****

"Long Industries, an offshoot of the well known Wilton Foundation, and named for Wilton Knight's adopted son, has announced a merger with Cyberdine Systems Corperation. Cyberdine has suffered a number of financial setbacks including terrorist attacks, a series of murdered employees, and the failure of their Skynet project, and is counting on the merger with Long Industries to help overcome their losses. Long's AI programs are expected to be blended in with Cyberdine's cybernetics. Only time will tell what can come of the Cy-Long merger---"

Matt Trakker turned off the small television, he had enough to worry about without listening to the news. He was in the back of his truck cab, getting his work clothes on, and his personal equipment ready. It did not occur to him that Hawk, sitting in the front passenger seat may have been listening to the news. He was a bit distracted, it was bad enough that he was being tested, even worse that his boss, General Hawk was going to be riding shotgun to observe his progress.

Trakker had decided to perform the mission solo, against his better judgment. If he was going to be hung out to dry, there was no reason to get the rest of the team in trouble too.

Fully dressed, he backed the Rhino truck back under the cargo trailer he was being entrusted with. Trakker donned his Spectrum Mask as he stepped out of the Rhino. He was surprised that he didn't look that out of place next to the head gear of Airtight and some of the other Joes. What did look out of place was the Rhino, the only civilian truck amidst a fleet of military vehicles.

Soldiers ran from place to place in an organized chaos, packing up inventoried equipment, and loading crates onto pallets and pallets into trucks. The warehouse was filled with the noises of rumbling of truck engines and high pitched beeps of reversing forklifts. The work was coming to a close in a remarkably short period of time. It looked like in the end it was going to be another case of hurry up and wait, as the trucks were all quickly being loaded, and the planned departure time was still hours away.

He finished connecting the trailer up to Rhino, then decided to walk around the trailer. He didn't want to get back into the truck where he only had Hawk to talk to, at least not until they started getting along, or until he at least earned the man's respect, and all of the Joes were too busy with their own assignments to be friendly with the "new guy."

"Spectrum: On," he said, activating the visual sensors in his MASK helmet, taking a quick look around, more from a sense of impending boredom than anything else. Now viewing the world with an enhanced view that included all spectrums, he had a completely different view of the scene in front of him: heat outlines of the troops, heat blooms of the various vehicle engines, outlines of the contents of various crates being loaded, and heat outlines of men patrolling the rafters overhead.

That was odd. Acting quickly, he opened a side hatch in the Rhino, and pulled out a Condor Jr. back pack, and a sub machine gun he had hoped to never use. His full gear in place, and all sense of hesitation gone, he stood on the side step and addressed Hawk directly.

"Do you have men in the rafters?"

Hawk faced him with a look of fierceness. "No, I don't."


End file.
